


The Dangers of Working Out Too Much

by RainbowRiddler



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: 107 one-armed pushups, F/F, Physical Fitness, actual workout clothing is for chumps, it's always polite to knock, workout routine
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-24
Updated: 2015-12-29
Packaged: 2018-03-19 11:03:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3607725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainbowRiddler/pseuds/RainbowRiddler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Angie walks in on Peggy trying to beat her record of 107 one-armed push-ups.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written anything in a few years. Thought I'd give it a go again because I hate knowing that my writing skills have suffered.
> 
> v1.01

 

“Mornin’ English,” Angie greeted as she waltzed into her best friend’s apartment.  She hadn’t bothered with knocking; she and Peggy had been real close lately, and she knew the woman had been awake for a while—had heard her shuffling about.  It was no big deal.

At least, she hadn’t thought it would be a big deal until she found herself frozen in the doorway.  She had to physically remind herself to close the damn door, at least to preserve Peggy’s modesty.

Said modesty, however, was already well and truly compromised as Angie found herself staring at a mostly naked Peggy Carter.  She had never seen the Englishwoman so…natural and undone.  If anybody had ever tried to tell her that Peggy had so much skin, she probably would have laughed at them.  Still, there she was in a pair of faded pants that had been hacked into shorts, and what appeared to be the exceptionally shortened remains of an old slip.  The slip was so old, in fact, that Angie could see Peggy’s bra and the breasts struggling to escape it. 

Then the rivers of sweat caught her eye, and she realized with a start that Peggy was in the middle of one-armed push-ups and still hadn’t acknowledged her.  No.  Instead, her gaze was burning a hole through her right hand as she counted.

“One hundred three…”

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!  One hundred three?  Four?  FIVE!  Angie’s jaw dropped and she was unable to draw her eyes away from Peggy’s trembling muscles.

“One hundred six…”  Peggy grunted.

Angie’s head spun, and she felt her stomach flip in that familiar and delicious way.

“One…hundred seven…”  Peggy grit out between clenched teeth, and huffing as she lowered herself once more.

Angie damn near swooned.  She could see the power and the effort in Peggy’s trembling limbs.

“Come on, Peggy!” came the heated, accented muttering.  She shook.  Sweat dripped to the floor and down her arms and back.  “Damn it, Margaret!  Come on!”  Then, with a grunt and half a growl, Peggy began to push herself up again!  “One…hundred…”

But then her arm buckled, and she fell face-first to the carpet with an undignified yell.

Angie watched, spellbound and completely incapable of words, as her friend lay in a sweaty heap on the floor.  Somehow, Peggy Carter as a heaving, sweaty mess was the sexiest damn thing she’d ever seen!

Peggy managed to flip onto her back with some effort, and Angie very nearly crumpled to the floor at the sight.

Peggy—prim, pristine Peggy—with her skin nearly flaming red and dulling to a very rosy pink.  Peggy coated in a sheen of sweat that made her body glisten in the morning sunlight.  Peggy with her hair matted to her forehead and neck.  Peggy breathing heavily with her lips sinfully—temptingly—parted.  Peggy with her full breasts rising and falling with the huff of her labored breathing beneath the thread-bare slip.  Peggy with limbs trembling like she was completely undone.  Peggy with a throbbing jugular vein that Angie suddenly—desperately—wanted to suckle.

Her senses were filled with Peggy.

Angie was almost sure she had come undone herself.

“Angie…” Peggy’s breathless voice called, and damn if it didn’t call to parts of Angie that she kept buried deep inside herself.

“Yeah?” croaked the actress.  _Smooth_.  Still, she managed to follow Peggy’s hand as it dragged across the floor to point at something.  A towel.  “Oh.  Sure!”

Peggy smothered herself with the towel when it landed on her face, and stayed that way for a long time.

Angie, for her part, found herself relieved that Peg hadn’t made any mention of her privacy being violated or of being embarrassed.  She just continued to lay there, a sweaty vision with legs that went on for miles.

“So…” Angie said, mostly to break the one-sided (probably) awkwardness she felt.  She was surprised how dry her mouth felt.  “’Hundred seven?”

The towel moved from her friend’s face, and she was pinned to the spot by those eyes that always reminded her of an owl about to strike.  “I’ve been trying to make it to one hundred eight.”  She sat up in one fluid motion and then pulled herself off the floor, giving Angie a rather nice glimpse of what was very nearly her backside.  “Sorry, by the way,” Peggy said, motioning to herself.  “I got a late start today.”

All Angie could do without embarrassing herself was wave Peggy off, though her mouth seemed to have other ideas.  “You look hot enough to be a pin-up, Peg.”  The flash of white teeth and sparkling eyes that earned her more than made up for any mortification she felt.  “But…You’re not mad are you?  Or embarrassed?”

“Of course not.  War and all that…it sort of knocks the modesty right out of you.”  She moved to the bed to collect a neatly folded pile of clothes and a fresh towel.  “Besides, it’s not as if I have anything you haven’t got yourself.”

“I can think of a couple things you’ve got that I never will,” Angie stated, looking pointedly at Peggy’s generous bust.  The moment it was out of her mouth, she wished she could just shut up!

Peggy only smirked at the comment and made her way to the bathroom.  “Of course.  How silly of me,” she teased before clicking the door shut behind her.


	2. Chapter 2

v1.01

 

Angie stood outside Peggy’s door and vaguely wondered if she was a glutton for punishment.  She had to be, she surmised.  After Peggy’s display of strength the previous day, Angie found herself spontaneously plagued by images of the Englishwoman’s deceptively lean arms.  They would just assert themselves in her mind.  Angie would see them—nearly feel them—wrapped around her middle and pressing her close to Peggy’s body.  Then, when she saw Peggy at breakfast that morning—not a full hour afterwards—a vivid image of the woman covered in a sheen of sweat as she lay panting on the floor helpfully reminded her what was hidden beneath the perfectly pressed dress her friend wore.  Angie actually broke her plate, she sat it down so hard! 

So, yes.  Angie knew she was a glutton for punishment; she would blame the sleepless night and naked imaginings of Peggy she had endured for her lack of self-control.  Still, even if she knew she was torturing herself, she couldn’t bring herself to walk away.

The door opened before Angie realized she’d knocked.  At first, it was only Peggy’s face, but then the door opened wider and there she was in the gorgeous robe Angie loved.  A smirk bent her unpainted lips, and her eyes glinted with humor.  “Didn’t get enough yesterday?”

“What can I say?” Angie shrugged as she walked past Peggy and into the room.  And what _could_ she say, she realized.  She certainly couldn’t think of anything that wasn’t completely perverse.

“On the bed,” Peggy instructed as she closed the door.  “If you don’t mind.”

“Jeez, English.”  Angie couldn’t help the smirk as she stood before the bed.  She turned to face her friend, eyebrow raised, and said with a grin, “You could at least buy me dinner first!”

The next thing she knew, she had a face-full of Peggy’s robe.  “Don’t be lewd!” she heard Peggy snap playfully.  Then, she was shoved ever-so-lightly onto the bed.

Angie pulled the robe away from her face—not before allowing herself a moment to indulge in Peggy’s scent—and squashed the urge to make a crack about her friend’s seduction techniques.  She never would have managed to finish her sentence anyway, because when she got a look at Peggy, she stood before her in the same outfit she wore the day before.  A moment—or four—passed while Peggy scooted furniture out of the way and Angie stared at her shapely legs.

Distracted as she was, Angie still had the presence of mind to clear her throat before speaking.  “So…Military, huh?”  She was quite proud of how casually she’d referenced their conversation from the morning before, not a squeak or catch to be heard.

“Oh, yes.”  Peggy said as she moved to the center of the room.  Without preamble—or any indication of awkwardness—she started rolling her head in a large circle.  “I joined almost immediately after I’d finished boarding school.”

“Was it tough?”  Angie cringed at the sound of Peggy’s neck cracking, but did not miss the expression of blissful relief on her face.

“Exceptionally.”  Her shoulders were next to be rolled.  “I’d played a bit of sports in school, and I would not have considered myself out of shape, but the military training knocked me flat on my arse.  It was rather apparent that the training I’d done for sports was too lenient, either because it was an _all-girls_ school or because it was, in fact, a _school_.”

Seamlessly, Peggy transitioned into moving her arms in slow, controlled circles.  “The men I happened to be placed with taunted me mercilessly.  As degrading as it had been, I expect it’s what gave me the drive to be better.  And I was, in time.”  She grunted and stopped for a moment to rub at her shoulder.  She grumbled something about it, seeming more than a little angry, and then carried on with her routine.  She bent her arms at chest level and pulled them back as if opening a wardrobe.

And what a sight that was!  All thoughts of asking after Peggy’s shoulder left Angie’s mind as her mouth fell slightly open and the watched the woman’s breasts being thrust at her every second or two.  From the thrusts, Peggy quickly segued into twists, and sighed in satisfaction as her back cracked.

“Bloody hell, I’m all kinked up today!”

“I’ll say,” was Angie’s throaty response.

When Peg moved on to stretching out her legs, Angie lounged back on her pillows.  “How long did you end up serving?”

“Oh,” Peggy called from her position, legs split to either side and bearing her weight on her hands.  “Years.  So long, in fact that…well, there are certain habits I find rather difficult to break.”

“I couldn’t tell,” Angie deadpanned.  “But _that_ doesn’t look like something you’d typically see in drills.”

“I find it helps to stay limber,” grunted Peggy.

And what the hell was Angie supposed to say to that?  Really!  It was like the woman was _trying_ to kill her!  “…Is that a fact?”

“Well, you don’t expect to one-up anybody with brute strength, do you?”  The way Peggy swung her legs about and sat on the floor seemed effortless.  She stretched them out in front of herself and touched her toes, reveling in the pleasant strain of her muscles.

“I guess not.”

“The thing of it is, men seem to think they’re the only ones who can fight a war.”  Peggy flung her legs wide, reaching for one foot and then the other.  Somehow—miraculously—she missed the way Angie’s eyes bugged as they fell to the apex of her thighs.  “It throws them off, and even more so when you’ve refined a skill set they are unfamiliar with and untrained for.”  After a moment, Peggy varied her position slightly.  She leaned, side-down, and reached over her head—like a dancer—for her toes.

A beat passed and Angie smirked as she tried to ignore the fluttering in her stomach.  “You know…I don’t think I've ever heard you talk so much before.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.  It’s always like pullin’ teeth with you.”

Peggy stared for a moment, stunned, as she switched sides.  Angie could see the moment of introspection and the moment of realization that followed.  “Oh…I hadn’t…”  She sat up and rubbed lightly at her thighs.  “I suppose it’s just easier for me…like _this_ ,” she said as she gestured to herself.  She sighed, struggling for the words.  “Things were so much simpler for me then.  I had my place—a useful place, I’d thought—and I never had to wonder what it was.”

“So all I gotta do is make you feel like a soldier and you’ll blabber on for days?”

Peggy chuckled.  “I don’t know if I’d go _that_ far.”

“You kidding?  I’ve just learned more about you in the past few minutes than I have the entire time I’ve known you!  Hell, English!  I don’t even know your favorite color!”

A wistful, faraway look crossed Peggy’s face before she wiped it away and answered “Blue,” in a soft, yet clipped tone.  Then without any warning, she leaned forward as far as she could, legs still wide and arms stretched in front of her.  She’d managed to stretch so far that her torso was parallel to the floor, and her breasts were pressed to the carpet.

Angie choked—on air, of all things—and fought back the fresh wave of fantasies which centered around Peggy’s flexibility.  She coughed.  “Well…there’s that, then.  Boarding school, military, blue, and a rough shoulder.”

Peggy’s head snapped up, a sharp look gracing her features.  “Beg pardon?” she huffed.

A smug feeling bloomed in Angie’s chest.  “I’m not blind, Peg.  I can see it gives you trouble from time to time.  Plus, I can see the scars when you’re dressed like a sexy military hobo.”

“Very funny!”

Angie shrugged, as if to say she thought it was, while Peggy sat back up.  “So what happened?  You get shot?”

A nod, and another faraway look.  “I was careless.  I did something stupid and got hurt because of it.  Perhaps…that’s what I’d wanted.”

“Jeez, Peggy.  I didn’t mean to…”

Peggy waved her off.  A deep breath and the look was gone from her face.  She stood, and took a sip of water from a glass on her nightstand.

“Finished?” Angie asked in an attempt to change the subject.

“What?  No.  Those were just warm-ups."

Angie thought she might die.  Warm-ups?  Jesus Christ! 

 _God help me_ … she thought.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one is so short. I needed more of a segue and it didn't quite feel right at the end of the last or beginning of the next.

V1.01

 

Angie’s assessment that it was going to be a long day after she left Peggy’s apartment that morning was a gross understatement.  Starting with breakfast, she’d found herself zoning out and her mind wandering back to the meat of her friend’s workout that morning.  She constantly found herself drawn back to the real world to realize she was staring at the column of Peggy’s neck, or the definition of her jawline, or the slight swell of her upper arms.

She would catch herself thinking things like _I’ll bet those arms could hold me up against the wall_.  She would find herself fantasizing about the way Peggy’s jaw would feel against the skin of her inner-thigh.

At one point, she jumped back to reality—literally—after thinking of exactly _where_ she would like to feel those painted lips smirking.

“Gotta go!” she’d squeaked after that one, hopping up and charging out of the Griffith with all the grace and poise of a drunken rhinoceros.

* * *

 

Peggy’s lunch at the L&L arrived sooner than Angie would have liked.  She still hadn’t managed to collect herself, and when the woman walked through the revolving doors any semblance of the confident normalcy she was portraying was shot to hell.

Angie’s eyes landed on Peggy’s legs, of course, and the first image in her mind was the wide-squats she had been witness to in the AM.  She’d nearly dropped dead on the spot when she remembered that she could see _exactly_ where the woman’s inner thighs met her pelvis.

Just like that, the image in her mind morphed.

_Peggy’s legs wrapped around her, holding her close to her core.  Angie, licking the taught bit of muscle and flesh right where she had so intently gazed.  Peggy moaning Angie’s name as the waitress buried herself in the Englishwoman’s folds._

“Angie?”

Angie refocused as the star of her racy daydreams scooted onto a stool in front of her.  She tried to fight against the raging blush that seemed a permanent accessory of her day.  “Hey, English,” she forced out around the lump in her throat, and scolded herself for sounding so awful the moment concern it in Peggy’s eyes.

“Is everything all right?”

Angie sighed and noted the look of cautious hesitance Peggy wore.  “Fine.  Didn’t really sleep last night.  I guess it’s catching up to me."

Peggy didn’t seem convinced—not even a little bit—but she let it go as she glanced at the bags under Angie’s eyes.  “You might want to turn in early this evening,” she suggested.  She also advised against coffee.  “Peggy’s orders.”

“Ma’am, yes, ma’am,” Angie agreed with about half her usual spunk.  “So.  Lunch.  Just you or are you picking up for the entire office?”

Peggy smiled at her friend.  “Oh, I’m picking up.  Though, I find myself rather enjoying the company.  I believe I’ll take _my_ lunch here.”

Angie smirked at the mischievous glint in the older woman’s eyes and then clipped a hastily scribbled order up for the cook.

* * *

 

Thankfully, Peggy never mentioned Angie’s hasty retreat that morning, though Angie could tell she was watching her far more closely than usual.  Other than that, Peggy’s meal passed in much the same way as it typically did.  Then, all too soon it seemed, Peggy was heading out the door, arms laden with lunch for the boys at the phone company.

“Oh, Angie,” Peggy called from the door.  “Are you…Shall I expect you in the morning?”

“You bet,” Angie answered immediately, and boy was she glad she did when she saw the tension melt out of Peggy’s shoulders.  She stared for a moment, baffled that the other woman could have been nervous, and watched her tilt her head a little higher.  A smile bloomed on those beautifully red lips and, after a light nod, Peggy was out the door and down the street.

Angie thought about that smile—all relief and genuine, heart-warming happiness—for the rest of her shift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really want to give Peggy a Tai Chi routine (maybe even as a way to deal with post-war stresses. Let me know what you think!


	4. Chapter 4

V1.01

 

“I was worried you weren’t coming,” Peggy breathed when she opened her apartment door.

It was later than the past two times Angie had crashed her workout.  In fact, she almost hadn’t left her apartment at all, but for the promise she’d made to Peggy at the diner.  The promise and that wonderful smile.

“Are you feeling any better?”

Angie snapped back to reality, confused.  “What?”

Peggy shrugged and urged Angie into her apartment.  “You seemed so out of sorts yesterday,” she explained.

“Oh.  Yeah.  Yeah!”  Angie waved her hand about to dismiss the notion.  “I’m fine.  Like I said yesterday, I just didn’t sleep well.”  She plopped onto Peggy’s bed and watched said woman drape her robe over a chair.  She noted the change in her outfit from yesterday’s session.  “No hobo suit?”

The Englishwoman—clothed in loose-flowing pajama pants and a fitted camisole–pinned her with a look, “You’re a riot, Angela, really,” she said derisively.  “My _hobo suit_ is in the bathroom waiting to be laundered.”

Angie watched as shaking hands smoothed the fabric of the camisole Peggy wore and wondered if her friend was feeling nervous again.  The thought made her stomach do little flips and something that felt like the Lindy Hop.

“Well, I gotta say, Pegs, pajama bottoms and a camisole work for you.”

Peggy blushed at the compliment, and Angie delighted in watching it climb all the way from the woman’s chest to her cheeks.  “Only for you,” she tried haltingly.

Angie felt emboldened by the blush, and raised an eyebrow provocatively.  “I hope so,” she said, and giggled while she watched Peggy flap about in a tizzy.  It was amusing to see the previously unflappable woman so worked up and trying to collect herself.  “Sorry!  Sorry!” she chuckled.  “But really, why the change?”

The blush remained on Peggy’s cheeks.  “My routine isn’t quite as intensive today.  It’s more about balance and alignment and calming the mind.”

“That sounds like a change of pace.”

“Yes, well…After the war, it was recommended that I practice…for stress.”

The confession hit Angie hard.  “Stress?”  Suddenly, it all made sense.  Peggy being constantly on edge, the way she heard the woman padding about in the middle of the night, the dark looks that would cross her features from time to time.  “Like…Combat Exhaustion?”

Peggy nodded.  “Pathetic, isn’t it?” she joked weakly.

“No.”  Angie’s tone was gentle, but firm.  “My brother, Rico?  Came back from the war and now he says he can’t _feel_ the way he used to.  Can’t drive, either.  Keeps thinking he sees things.”

Peggy nodded in such complete understanding that it made Angie’s blood run cold.  She wanted to ask her about her experiences.  She wanted to hold her and tell her she was safe.

“It doesn’t make me love him any less,” she said instead when she saw that dark look and the shaking of Peggy’s shoulders.  _It won’t make me love you any less_ , she willed Peggy to hear.  The slow smile she’s rewarded with was a pretty good indication that Peggy got the message.

And it’s _that_ smile, Angie realized with what felt like a quick jolt of electricity.  The one from the diner the day before, all relief and happiness and—it dawned on Angie slowly, just like Peggy’s smile—trust.  It took her breath away when she realized just how vulnerable Peggy was allowing herself to be in that moment. 

Her brain shut down, and she had to force herself to do something— _anything_!  All she could think of was the sudden need to hold Peggy’s hand, to hug Peggy close, to kiss Peggy’s worries away.

Angie cleared her throat instead.  “So, show me your super-stress-relief routine!”  She reclined on the bed, and remarked that maybe she could show it to her brother after Sunday dinner sometime.  Peggy appeared more than happy to move away from the subject, and quickly began her routine.

And that was how Angie found herself watching Peggy perform the most beautiful movements she’d ever seen the human body go through.

“ _Tai Chi_ ,” she’d been told just as Peggy took a deep breath to begin, her left foot moving out until her feet were shoulder-width apart.

Angie sat mesmerized as Peggy seemed to fall into a trance.  She watched the woman’s arms float up and then down, knees bending with the motion.

A step to the left, and a transition into both arms being in front of her body—one over the other and palms facing.  She seemed to slide her right hand over and away from her left—towards her body—almost like feeling a bolt of silk.  Peggy then stepped with her right foot, knees still bent, and mirrored her last motions.  And again to the left after that.

Angie was struck by the fluidity of the motions and the softness with which Peggy performed them.

Drawing her feet closer by half a step Peggy’s hand swirled about one another.  Her left rested by her hip, the right arched towards the heavens, and then they rotated into a mirrored version.

A step forward.  A push.  A pull back.

Peggy’s right foot stepped out, her body slightly lower to the ground, her left hand following through with a push.

Angie couldn’t even keep track of everything that was happening.  Peggy’s legs, Peggy’s arms, Peggy’s hands—they all moved together as if she were moving the very air itself.  _No…_ Angie thought.  I was as if Peggy _was_ the air itself.

And it was beautiful.

Angie couldn’t breathe as she watched the graceful slide and float of Peggy’s body.  She couldn’t think as she witnessed the precise control the other woman held over her movements.

Peggy took a step backwards, pushed one palm forward and drew the other back.  She circled it to her shoulder and did the same thing.  Step back, push, and retract.

A moment later and she touched her palms, pushing forward once again.  Her hands rolled over one another and spread as if over water.  Then she floated them down in front of her body and pushed up and forward.  She rocked forward on her left foot.  She gracefully turned and repeated the motions in opposite.

Her hands flowed in two circles before her.  Left circle, right circle, left…

Afterwards, she hooked her right hand, the left playing in front of her face as she moved in the same direction with a step.  Palm forward, she held the pose for a fraction of a second and returned to repeat the steps.

Hands rolled left, right, left, and right.  Peggy stepped with them.  Once.  Twice.

She hooked her hand again and moved into the same pose she took a moment ago.  Her hands came together, apart, together, and it was like she was parting a veil which she stepped through.

Her wrists met.   A scoop, and her right leg followed her hands to the air.  A high kick—in slow motion—followed as she spread her hands apart once more.

Angie’s hands trembled with want as Peggy lowered her leg.

Peggy leaned forward once again, her hands forming fists and coming to meet before her.

A turn, and her hands spread an invisible veil again.  This time, it’s her left leg that lifted after crossed wrists.  A kick and she lowered it again, following it all the way to the ground for a low body scoop.  Her right hand trailed behind, the left leading.

And again.

Angie couldn’t concentrate.  All she could focus on was Peggy pushing, Peggy pulling.  A private give and take that she desperately wanted to be a part of.

The woman bent at the waist, one leg beneath her, the other sort of popped in front.  Her hand was pointed gently to the ground before she rose again.

She spread the imaginary veil one last time.  Turned, and her fist popped above her left arm, drew back, and punched—all in tantalizingly slow motion.

Angie could see the muscles in her arm work and flex at the slow pace.

A soft withdrawal, and Peggy made the pushing motions again before crossing her wrists, rolling them about one another, and pushing her hands down to her sides.  Her knees straightened.  She breathed.

She looked at Angie, who was sitting with her mouth hanging wide open.

It took Angie a moment too long to realize Peggy was done.  The entire routine had taken five, maybe seven minutes tops.  Still, she didn’t have the words for what she had just witnessed.  She couldn’t speak.  She couldn’t even gesture—oh.

The waitress gingerly removed her hand from where she had been clutching the blankets with a white-knuckled grip.  Her friend chuckled softly.

It was only when Peggy broke eye contact and moved to rummage through her closet that Angie managed to get herself in gear.  “I don’t think my brother’s that coordinated,” she spoke, and she hated how out of breath she sounded, but the way Peggy took her in when she finished in the closet—eyes blazing with an intensity Angie had only seen a handful of times—made it worth the slight embarrassment.

“I’m sure we can work something out,” Peggy stated lightly.  She flipped her hair a bit and made for the bathroom to change.

_I’m in trouble_ … Angie mused, already preparing herself for the onslaught of fantasies that were sure to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has a chart with some of the forms at the bottom of the page if you would like to get an idea what they look like. http://english.eastday.com/e/zx/userobject1ai4042344.html
> 
> This is the video I used as reference while writing. The camera is a bit shaky, and the woman a bit stiff, but I feel that it most accurately conveys what Angie would be seeing/feeling at the time. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HJ-bcaofgQM&list=LLOQQ_NY5bBgmO88bAfqSf1Q


	5. Chapter 5

V 1.01

 

Angie had noticed at breakfast that Peggy seemed to carry herself a bit differently.  She held her head higher, sat with her back straighter, and the look in her eyes…  Angie would have said they glowed with a primal sort of satisfaction.

Or was that hunger?

Maybe it was both, she considered as she stared at the quirk of the other woman’s lips and her lightly raised eyebrow.

It was like Peggy no longer concerned herself with trying to blend in with the girls around her, and Angie never realized how much she _didn’t_ until just then.  She glowed and preened and smiled—and God!  That smile was suddenly so bright and brilliant!

Peggy Carter was some damned kind of radiant _goddess_ and she fucking _knew_ it!

Angie was pretty sure Peggy wanted _her_ to know it, too!

_Hell, maybe she wants the whole damned world to know!_

That same intensely significant look from earlier—the one that had seemed to devour Angie after Peggy finished her routine that morning—was thrown from across the breakfast table.  Angie felt her pulse leap.

 _No_ , she thought.  _It’s definitely just me…_

 

* * *

 

 

When Peggy appeared at the diner that evening for supper, Angie was ready for her.  She poured the woman’s coffee before she had a chance to order it, and then produced a generous slice of pie from seemingly nowhere.

“Trying to spoil my supper?” Peggy teased, tucking into the pie gratefully.

Angie was ready.  “You look like you could use a bit of spoilin’.”

She felt triumphant as Peggy swallowed a mouthful of pie to lessen the bulge in her cheeks.  Then, those lips turned upwards in a smile, and Angie couldn’t help but smile at the small spot of whipped cream resting at their corner.  She decided that Peggy didn’t need to know about it just yet, and allowed herself to bask in her friend’s unusual glow.

 

* * *

 

 

The next several days passed in a whirl of sexually charged workouts, mostly sleepless nights, and the near-constant thrum of arousal for Angie.

 

Wednesday had brought with it a bar fixed above Peggy’s bathroom door.  Angie was impressed that it was removable.  In fact, seemed to use counter-pressure above the door frame to stay in place.

They had grinned at each other before Angie quickly made herself comfortable to watch Peggy do some pull-ups.

She hadn’t expected her to flip upside-down and dangle from her legs about halfway through.  Then, she’d been asked to hand her two thirty pound weights, which Peggy held close to her body as she curled towards her knees.

Hanging crunches.

_Glorious._

If Angie happened to touch the vague outline of Peggy’s abs when she was asked to take the weights back, well…that didn’t mean she was too far gone to come back.

And if Peggy’s all-out laughter at Angie’s lame excuse turned her into a puddle of goo…that didn’t mean she was in over her head.

Because, if anybody else had heard it, they would have agreed that Peggy Carter had a beautiful laugh.

 

Thursday heralded another round of Tai Chi, and Angie was better prepared to appreciate it than she had been previously.  She’d settled into a small mountain of pillows and blankets on the bed to enjoy the way Peggy’s body moved.

Her other routines were something to behold, to be sure, but the soft-form martial arts showed an aspect of spiritual reverence that Angie never knew Peggy possessed.

There was very little conversation—much like Tuesday morning—but the way Peggy looked at her with that charged expression spoke for itself.

 

Friday was another bout of Peggy’s intensive exercises.

The first time she had witnessed them—just days ago—the sight had nearly brought Angie to her knees, and this time was no different.

Angie had made it through the warm-ups with very little incident.  Her main trouble started with the meat of the workout.

Just like last time, Angie found herself enraptured by the work Peggy put herself through.  Running in place, a bit of weight work, some kind of jab-jab-dodge business.  But the real trouble started when she made it to squats and lunges.  Angie had a hard time keeping her eyes off Peggy’s legs to begin with, and those particular exercises didn’t help matters.

Then the wide-squat, military weight press combo happened, and Angie felt all the blood in her body racing to God-knows-where!  It was a wonder she was able to walk out of there a little later, considering she was pretty sure she’d blacked out somewhere between that wide-squat press and a form of push-up that Peg would pop up and jump from before falling right back into it.

“Burpee push-ups,” Peggy had called them.

_Mary, mother of God…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man. Another transitional chapter. Sorry.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YAAAS!!! UPDATE!!!
> 
>  
> 
> I hope this one is okay.

V1.01

 

Angie had been wrapped around Peggy’s little finger from the moment they met.  Not that she’d ever minded, of course.  Peggy was always too polite and reserved to really take advantage of it.

Not that Angie would have objected if she had.

That was what she’d thought, anyway, in the grips of some sensual fantasy or another.

Then Sunday had rolled around, and Peggy—polite, reserved Peggy—had somehow convinced Angie to do as many push-ups as she could.  The woman had grinned wickedly at her, sweat-slicked and red-faced, and said, “Humor me.”

And how the hell was Angie supposed to say no to _that_?  Especially when paired with the labored rise and fall of Peggy’s considerable assets beneath the tattered top of her hobo suit!

Begrudgingly, Angie had managed to eke out a whopping five push-ups.  After her flop and only slightly mortifying “Whuff!” when her chest slammed into the floor, she’d rolled onto Peggy’s lap to complain about her incredibly lackluster performance.

There was a light, but decidedly sharp, swat to her stomach with the order of “Don’t be so dramatic!”  And when Peggy’s hand rested on the spot she’d smacked, rubbing lightly and scratching around it from time to time, they both pretended they didn’t notice.

* * *

 

Monday brought an insistence from Peggy that Angie should at least _try_ the intensive routine.  She’d promised no judgement.  She’d told Angie to do only what she felt she could.

She’d knitted those damnable eyebrows of hers and her lips had quirked into a pleading smile.  And that was how Angie found herself fighting through the hellish workout Peggy did every Monday and Friday.

It had started off well enough.  She’d made it through the warm-ups only slightly winded, and relished the ease of jumping jacks, but soon enough she was struggling with small weights and squats.

“Jesus!” Angie growled as the weights threw her off balance and sent her toppling to the floor for the second time that week.  The chuckle from Peggy as she slammed into the carpet made Angie scowl.   _No judgement, my foot!_ she’d thought as she considered giving Peggy an earful.  When the woman’s hand alighted on her back, still shaking with the laughter she was trying to smother, Angie decided she’d had enough.  She was going to give Peggy a piece of her mind!

Except, when she lifted her head to do just that, she found herself staring at the sweat-soaked underside of Peggy’s bosom.

Just like that, Angie’s indignation lost its steam, and she felt her mouth dry out.

She could just make out Peggy’s concerned expression beyond the curve of her chest, an easy smile on the woman’s face and in her eyes.  “Are you all right?”

And suddenly Angie didn’t care that Peggy had laughed at her, because she’d been the one to put that smile there.  “Fine, English.”

* * *

 

“Would you like to learn?”  Peggy had asked on Tuesday.

That was all it had taken.

No mischievous smirk.  No quirked eyebrow.  No pleading tone.

Just a simple offer, and Angie had leapt to her feet to be instructed in the ways of Tai Chi.  After all, Angie was relatively certain there was no way for her to utterly embarrass herself with a bit of hip-swaying and hand-waving.

And then she felt Peggy’s hand on her back and hip.  “First,” the woman said, “we need to find your alignment.”  Peggy nudged her a bit.  “It’s about energy,” she continued.  “To find your body’s connection to the Earth and Sky.”

That was when Angie realized she was doomed, whether she happened to thoroughly embarrass herself or not.  The way Peggy was speaking sounded nearly poetic, and Angie already wanted to melt.

“What you’re actually doing is aligning energy points at the top of the head and the bottom of the torso.”  She observed Angie for a moment and instructed her to let her head _float_ towards the heavens.  “Right, just like that.  Relax your shoulders and elbows.  Bend your knees—softly.”  Another moment of observation.  “Yes.  Do your hips feel all right?  You may need to wiggle them about to find the right spot.”

Angie turned a humorless stare on her friend.  “ _Wiggle my hips_ , Peg?  Really?”

Peggy’s cheeks tinged pink and a smirk formed on her lips.  “What I mean is:  Does your posture feel strained?”

“No.”

“All right, then.”  Peggy sassed, then moved to stand in front of Angie.  “Now touch the tip of your tongue to the roof of your mouth and try to follow along.”

The beginning had been easy enough.  It wasn’t such a challenge to hold her hands out in front of her and _let the energy flow_ for a few minutes in a position which literally meant _To Stand Like a Tree_.  The series of movements Peggy had dubbed _The Opening of the Heart_ hadn’t been so difficult either.

_I can do this_ , Angie mused.  All she was doing was raising her arms to the sides and floating them down in front of herself.  Though it _was_ oddly relaxing, and she noticed a feeling of lightness coming over her as she mimicked Peggy.  She smiled to herself.   _No problem._

Peggy’s knees straightened and Angie followed her lead.  Their hands formed into diamonds and pushed outward before they floated down once more.

A shift in posture that Angie imitated, and their hands were rising again, this time in front of themselves.  They floated them down, and Angie sunk as Peggy did.

They shifted their weight immediately to the right foot, and their hands came to form a circle with the right hand on top.  They each brought their left foot in for something Peggy was calling a _T Step_ before they stepped out into a lunge.

The left hand rose from the bottom to form a curve and the right hand brushed by it in a move called _Parting the Wild Horse’s Mane_.

They stepped forward in an _Empty Step_ and tapped the left toe.  The right hand rose again, the left rested by the hip.

Hands circled to a space on their right, a small step followed.

Angie could feel Peggy’s eyes on her and chanced a glance away from the woman’s hands and feet.  The intensity in the woman’s gaze threw her off, her stomach twisting as she forced herself to follow through the next motions.

The left hand pushed down, the right hand folded in, and another step out.  The left hand brushed the knee, and the right pushed to the front.  An empty step, and both hands rose into a position Peggy called _Play the PIpa_.

“Hold on a moment,” Peggy said, and Angie’s heart stuttered when she moved towards her.  “Stay right there.”

A moment later, Peggy’s hand was on Angie’s arm.  She was telling her to relax.  She adjusted Angie’s position, told her to drop her shoulders, and to let her elbows feel heavy.  “You’re too tense,” she instructed.

Angie swallowed hard, heart pounding in her chest as Peggy’s fingers trailed lightly along her arms and to her shoulders.  Then, suddenly, Peggy was standing behind her.  Her hands ran over the curve of Angie’s shoulders and came to rest on her back.  “You need to keep your back straight.  No leaning,” she whispered.

Angie desperately hoped she was imagining the husk in Peggy’s voice.

The woman’s hands floated down Angie’s back, “Are your hips still all right?”

“Yes,” Angie managed.

Then Peggy folded herself against Angie’s back and brought her hands to rest on Angie’s wrists.

She was warm and solid against the younger woman, and Angie couldn’t help the strangled gasp that escaped her.  Thankfully, Peggy made no indication that she’d heard it.  She merely tucked her chin against Angie’s shoulder and whispered into her ear.

“Now step backwards,” she instructed, voice low.  Her weight shifted and Angie followed her back a step.  The hands on Angie’s wrists guided her.  “The right hand circles down,” Peggy whispered as she led Angie’s body through the motion, “around the corner, folds into the cheek.  Now step.”  Another step back was taken, and Angie followed, only able to breathe when Peggy told her to.  “Palm over palm,” she was told, as Peggy pushed her hands into the movement.  “Circle again.  Fold in.  Step back.  And push.”  Twice more, and Angie’s right hand was drawn back a final time as the left pushed forward.

“Now return to the center,” Peggy instructed, still flush against Angie’s back.  Angie did her best to ignore the pressure of the woman’s breasts and the feel of her hips pressed close.  Her hands were led into a circle once more with Peggy’s verbal instructions of “Step in _T Step_ and, right hand on top, _Hold the Ball_.”

“The left foot steps out,” she heard, “to _Ward Off_ the beginning of _Grasping the Bird’s Tail_.”  Angie’s hands were moved to brush the palms over one another again, the right pulled back to rest by her hip and the left gently curved into the air.  Then, Peggy urged the right hand forward once more, turning the palm of the left to face it.  “Now reach the right hand forward, and float down, around to the corner…for _Roll Back_.”

And for a moment, Angie could swear that Peggy had nudged her nose into her hair.  She thought she’d felt the woman inhale more than she’d been while simply breathing.  “English,” she choked.

“The long arm folds in,” Peggy continues, as if Angie hadn’t tried to get her attention, and Angie was _definitely_ not imagining the rough quality in the woman’s voice.  “Palm against wrist.  Shift forward and _press_.”

Angie felt Peggy’s throat flex against her shoulder.

“Slide the two ends apart.”  Peggy moved Angie’s hands over one another, then moved her to rock backwards and float the hands down.

And somehow, the Englishwoman’s hands left Angie’s wrists and rested on the younger woman’s hips.

The instruction had come to a sudden halt, the air heavy around them.  Angie could feel Peggy’s fingers flexing against her hip as the woman fought to control her trembling hands.  She could feel the woman’s breath, hot and heavy on the sensitive skin of her neck.  And she could feel Peggy push her hips just a hair closer to her backside.

“Peg…” Angie breathed.

The warm and fluttering sensation of Peggy’s slightly wet, open-mouthed kiss on her neck forced the air from Angie’s lungs, and she pitched forward in shock.  Peggy’s hand was on her collarbone in an instant, holding her upright.  Then that same hand wrapped in the fabric of Angie’s shirt and tugged, the hand still on her waist helping to spin her about.

“Is this okay?” Peggy asked as her hand lifted from its place in Angie’s now wrinkled shirt to cup her cheek.

“Yes!” Angie practically squeaks.  “And don’t pretend you don’t know,” she added vehemently before she was dragged into a kiss so hard she somehow split her lip.  She grunted at the slight taste of blood, at once glad to note that it didn’t seem to be anything to worry about and impressed that Peggy barely seemed to register it.

“I’m tired of pretending,” the older woman said against her lips, grip like iron on the younger woman’s cheek and hip.

Angie’s nose bumped Peggy’s when she tried to shake her head.  Lips still touching, she said, “You weren’t very good at it anyway.”

“Cheeky.”

Another kiss, somehow more intense than the last, had Angie’s knees buckling, and Peggy backed her up towards the vanity.  They crashed against it, causing bottles of perfume to clatter and tubes of lipstick to fall to the floor.  The vanity itself thudded rather noisily against the wall as Angie’s weight was thrown into it, the mirror teetering dangerously against the worn braces.

“Careful,” Angie scolded around the kisses.

Peggy grunted at her, mouth trailing towards her ear and leaving little nips along the way.

Then a knock sounded at the door, startling them both.  “Peggy?”  Dottie called from the hallway, voice muffled by the wood.  “Is everything all right?  I heard some banging.”

“I…“ Peggy cleared her throat and prayed her voice sounded passably normal.  “Everything’s fine, Dottie,” she answered back.  “Angie lost her footing and got a fat lip.”

“Hey!” hissed the woman in question.

“Hush.”

“Is she okay?”  Dottie sounded alarmed.  “Do you need a hand?”

“Oh, no.  She’s fine.”

A slight pause, and Angie and Peggy found themselves holding their breath.  “All right.  I’ll see you both in a bit.”

A few moments of silence passed before either woman dared to move.

Peggy was the first to look back with a sheepish grin.  “I suppose we should get ready for the day,” she suggested, though she rested her head on Angie’s shoulder.  “They’ll be looking for us at breakfast soon.”  She brushed her nose across the top Angie wore and pressed a kiss through it.

Angie, for her part, closed her eyes and rested her cheek on Peggy’s head.  “ _Is_ your lip all right, though?” she heard the woman mutter into her shoulder, and she couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Yeah, English.”


	7. Chapter 7

Angie had put a little extra effort into getting ready the next morning, and it showed as she looked at her reflection.  She’d colored her cheeks with a splash of rouge, the subtle coloring making her eyes stand out.  Her hair had been let down from the curlers she’d put in, and sat alluringly about her face.

She’d even brushed and flossed her teeth _twice_ in her nervousness.

With a sigh, she readjusted her skirt.  Again, she fussed with her hair.  She paced the room once or twice.

Then, when she was just beginning to think she was trying too hard, she heard voices in the hall.  Odd, for such an early hour...

“…miliar with the ID and the Ego?” Angie heard as Miss Fry approached her door.  She felt bad for whichever sap was on the other end of _that_ conversation.  Freud.  Always bad news.

“Are they…children’s characters?” Peggy’s voice sounded through the hall, the note of feigned ignorance not lost on Angie.

_But Freud…_ Angie couldn’t help feeling as if her stomach had dropped.  Did Miss Fry know what had happened between her and Peggy?  As Angie listened to the matron drone on about governing impulses and protection from compulsions, it was hard to imagine she didn’t.

“Miss Carter!” Miss Fry snapped in a harsh clipped tone.

_She knows!_ Angie panicked.

“Your laundry?”

Baffled, Angie listened to Miss Fry’s brisk footsteps as the woman headed towards the stairs and Peggy’s as she haltingly followed.

_The dumbwaiter,_ she realized, and her stomach twisted unpleasantly.  _The dumbwaiter and Freud._

Peggy was sneaking a man in!

_Of course!_ Angie cursed.  The waves of hurt and anger that crashed over her were quick and intense.

She was reminded of her girlfriend in Queens whom she’d dated for nearly six months before the girl’s parents had come dangerously close to finding out about them.  Angie had quickly found herself kicked to the curb after that, and her ex immediately married and moved to Armonk.

At least Peggy’s gay panic had set it quickly, Angie mused.  And at least there wasn’t any way for her to get kicked out.  Unless Peggy told Miss Fry, but she wouldn’t…would she?

“Good night, Miss Fry!” Peggy said in the hallway, snapping Angie out of the whirlwind of her panicked thoughts.  The Englishwoman sounded entirely too pleased with herself.

“It’s nearly 6:00 AM, Miss Carter.”

The relief Angie felt as she listened to the awkward laughter in the hall had her chuckling at herself.  Of course, Peggy wouldn’t bring a _man_ to the Griffith—not after a kiss like _that_!

A moment passed as Angie composed herself.  Her hand had just touched her doorknob to go out and greet Peggy when—

“Howard!” was hissed through the hallway.  Again, it was Peggy’s voice.

Peggy was calling for a man.

She _had_ snuck a man into the Griffith!

Angie recoiled from the doorknob and clutched her hands near her chest.  She worked against the constriction in her throat as tears welled in her eyes, and the sting of betrayal settled in her gut.

Then a knock—three solid pounds, more like—sounded across the hall.  “Yes?” Lorraine greeted around a giggle.  “You just woke me.”

“Not to worry!” said a man’s voice.  “This is my cousin Peggy!  Peggy, Lorraine.”

Angie leaned towards her apartment door, trying to figure out what on Earth was happening.

“Don’t you think your cousin looks _just_ like Howard Stark?”

“My cousin is a lot shorter.”

Angie fancied she could imagine the utterly unamused and sour look on Peggy’s face.

“And much better-looking,” the man—Howard, Angie knew—defended.  “Come on, Peg.  We got family business to discuss.”

It was the slam of Peggy’s apartment door that finally gave Angie the courage to open her own, even if it had taken her several minutes.

_I should just…act like everything is normal,_ she told herself.  After all, she wasn’t supposed to know about this Howard guy.  She wasn’t supposed to know Peggy had just gotten in.

She approached 3E, just barely registering something about Bloody Marys over the sound of her own thoughts.

“There’s no room service, Howard!” she heard Peggy say.  She sounded exasperated, and none-too-pleased.  “I’m getting dressed and going to work.  So say what you have to say, and it better include when you’re leaving my apartment!”

The swell of satisfaction Angie felt as Peggy told this Howard off put a small smile on her face.

“I’m bound for Rio in three days.”

_Good,_ Angie thought.

“Before I depart, I need to know which of my inventions you’ve recovered.”

Again, Angie felt her heart drop.

“If I know what the SSR has obtained, I can determine how many are still on the Black Market.”

With words like _Inventions_ and _Black Market_ floating around in her head, Angie backed away from the door.  She wondered after the mysterious _SSR_ —unable to decide if it sounded more official or suspicious—and what role Peggy played in it.

She needed a moment to breathe.

She needed a moment to wrap her head around what was going on.

_Howard.  Inventions.  Black Market._

“A camera-pen?” she heard Peggy ask incredulously.

“ _A camera-pen_?” the guy mocked.  “I was expecting a little more enthusiasm.  Any idea how long it took me to figure out lens miniaturization?”

_Holy cannoli…_   Angie’s mind whirled.  _That’s Howard Stark!_

_Oh, Peggy…What have you gotten yourself into?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woops. This got a bit more serious than I'd intended from the get-go.


	8. Chapter 8

 V1.01

 

Angie had hidden herself away in her apartment until she heard Peggy leave for work.  Even afterwards, she just sat and stared at the wall between their apartments as she tried desperately to work out what was going on.

The previous morning, Peggy had damn near seduced her.  In fact, Angie was almost certain that’s where things would have gone if not for Dottie.

She ran her tongue over the cut on her lip, forlornly.

If only she hadn’t heard all this _Howard_ business, Angie wished.

If only she weren’t reasonably certain this Howard-guy was Howard Stark himself.

If only she knew _what in the world_ Peggy was _doing_ with _Howard Stark_!

Angie scoffed.  Leave it to Howard _freaking_ Stark to waltz in and throw everything she thought she knew about Peggy out the window!

She cursed the man all morning, pacing back and forth as she glowered at the wall, until a knock sounded at her door.

“Yeah?” she answered, twisting the knob and swinging the door wide.

Alice from 2F motioned over her shoulder.  “Phone for you, Angie.”

Angie had grumbled as she grabbed her keys, and she’d muttered under her breath on her way to the hall phone.  Then, receiver in hand, she’d just barely managed to keep herself from snapping when she said, “Hello?”

“ _Angie._ ”

The way Peggy breathed her name over the line immediately quieted her raging mind.  “Peg,” she said, feeling almost dumbstruck.  “Hey,” she managed a moment later, even though her throat felt like closing up.

“ _Hi._ ”

Angie found herself smiling into the phone when Peggy fell silent a moment later, and she could almost picture the shy smile she desperately hoped the other woman was wearing.

“ _Listen.  I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry I missed you this morning._ ”  Angie heard a rustling on the other end, and she could imagine Peggy nestling the phone snugly between her cheek and shoulder.  “ _I was rather looking forward to seeing you._ ”

“You were?”

“ _I was_.   _I_ …“  Peggy’s voice dropped, and she said quietly, “ _I missed you.”_

She could feel the smile spreading across her face, and did her best to smother it.  It wouldn’t do to be caught grinning like a fool on the hall phone.  Especially when there were bound to be at least a few people who knew she was talking to Peggy.  “Me too.”

“ _I’m glad.  Angie, I…”_ Peggy took a deep breath, and blew it gently against the receiver.  “ _Listen,_ ” She said “ _We’ll talk, but now isn’t the time._ ”

With a subtle glance around her, Angie counted three of the girls lingering with several more passing by.  “Yeah,” she agreed.  “No.”

“ _But we will.  I promise._ ”

And while Peggy’s voice was filled with conviction, that wasn’t what convinced Angie she meant it.  It was the edge of softness that carried over the line—the note of hopeful sincerity—that made her heart thud against her chest.

“All right, English.”

“ _I’ll see you tonight, then._ ”

“Yeah.  See you later, Peg.”

Feeling somehow lighter than air, Angie carefully placed the receiver back on its hook.  The moment she let go of the phone, it was as if her final anchor to the Earth had been cut and she floated away.  And as much as she tried to remind herself of the importance—the absolute necessity—of discretion, she couldn’t keep the smitten smile off her face on her way back upstairs.

Until she reached the landing of her floor, that is.  But even the sight of apparently ever-restless Howard Stark stalking through the hall like a stray dog looking for scraps wasn’t enough to fully dim her spirits.

He caught sight of her, and a smarmy grin split his face.  “Well, _hello_ there!” he greeted.  Angie watched his face smooth and his posture relax, the ease that only came with years of practice evident in the sudden shift.

She wasn’t in the mood for any of it.

With a scowl, she swiftly presented her palm to him and said, “You’re barkin’ up the wrong tree, buddy!”

Then, with Howard gawking after her, she slipped into her apartment.

 

* * *

 

Angie sighed, because _really_ she should have known that Howard Stark would make a nuisance of himself over the _entire_ course of the day.  She’d lost count of the number of times he’d tried to go sniffing around downstairs.  And as much as Angie understood going stir crazy, she wasn’t about to let this mustachioed man-child get Peggy kicked out!

Any time she heard him—and he was most definitely _not_ , by any stretch of the imagination, a master of stealth—she would open her door and level her best Peggy-glare at him.  It must have been pretty good, too, because each and every time, he would slink back to Peggy’s apartment.

 

* * *

 

Around lunch time, Angie found out just how much she took after her mother when, even though he had annoyed the hell out of her all morning, she couldn’t find it in herself to let Howard starve.  She gathered the little bit of food she had stashed about her apartment—three rolls, a tiny slice of rhubarb pie, and a few pieces of jerky—grumbling at herself for being such a sap.  _This is for Peggy_ , she told herself, as if reminding herself of that fact would make her dislike Howard a little less.

It didn’t, and as she left her room for Peggy’s, everything balanced on the small pie plate, she felt her face twist into a hard frown.

She knocked, not at all surprised when the door didn’t open and she’d had to call for him.  When the door opens a crack, she shoves past him to lay everything out on Peggy’s table.  Then, with a cold glare, she sweeps out the door and back to her own apartment, leaving Howard gaping after her.

 

* * *

 

Mid-afternoon, and Angie heaved a sigh, glaring exasperatedly at her apartment door.  She wasn’t at all sure why she was surprised to hear the click of Peggy’s latch, and Howard’s heavy footsteps in the hall.

She rolled her head back, allowing it to smack off the back of her chair as she debated if it was really worth it to stop him.  As far as things went, she didn’t care what happened to him.  Let him get arrested.  Let them try him for treason.

_But Peggy…_

Angie ran her tongue over the scab on her lip, the dull throb of pain reminding her exactly why she was wasting her time keeping Howard Stark in line.

She groaned and scrubbed her hands over her face before she hauled herself out of her chair and to the hall.  Unsurprisingly, Howard had made for the stairs, and was already two steps down.

Angie slammed her apartment door—just loud enough to startle him—and crossed her arms as she leaned against the door frame.  For the umpteenth time that day, Howard turned a deer-in-headlights look onto her—and really, that was the one thing that would _never_ get old.

Peggy-glare in place, Angie scowled at him, satisfied when he backtracked and shuffled to Peggy’s apartment door.  She was just about to turn around and go back inside when she heard the hard _clunk_ of a doorknob that would not turn.

_Oh, no._   She squeezed her eyes shut.

_Clunk_.

_No, no, no!_

“Aw, geez…” she heard Howard say to the door, and when she wearily dragged her gaze over to him, he looked shocked and a little pale.

He’d locked himself out.

“Are you kidding me?” Angie deadpanned.

Several beats passed as Howard stared at her, panicked and helpless.  And honestly, if it weren’t for the insistent memory of being shoved against Peggy’s vanity with the woman’s lips all over her, she might have left him there to fend for himself.  But even that wasn’t in her nature, and so, with a growl for him to wait there, she marched away to swipe the spare key from the Administration desk.

A floor and a half down, and Angie could have kicked herself.

She saw Helen, chatting happily with Lorraine as they both ascended the stairs towards her.  Behind them, Miss Fry took every step as prim and properly as ever, never once looking down.

Cringing inwardly, and wondering _why, oh why_ she hadn’t shoved Howard into her own apartment, Angie did what she did best.

She improvised.

“Helen, hey!” she chirped, a smile lighting her face.  She stopped where she was, forcing the others to do the same until she was through.  “I left your blouse in front of your door,” she said casually.  “Thanks for loaning it to me.”

“I…”  Helen’s eyebrows drew together.  “I don’t remember loaning you a blouse.”

“You don’t?”  Angie forced a slack expression before she shrugged.  “I’m sure you’ll remember when you see it.  _Right_ , Lorraine?”  As discreetly as possible, she tilted her head towards the stairs and arched an eyebrow when Lorraine caught her eye.

_Please understand._

Wide eyes stared back at her.

_Please understand!_

Then, just as Angie’s nerves were starting to get the better of her, Lorraine turned to Helen and said, “ _Right!_ ”

Angie dared to hope.

“Come on, we’d better go grab it before someone else decides to!”

As Lorraine and Helen started up the stairs again, Miss Fry did as well, no doubt eager to make her rounds.  Angie’s heart leapt into her throat while her stomach dropped to her feet, a feeling of dread clawing at her chest.  She panicked.  Lorraine _hadn’t_ understood!

A gasp drew her attention just as the girls were passing her on the stairs.  Lorraine had stopped again, hand in her purse.  “Oh, gosh!” she said as she rifled through.  “Oh, no!”  She raised her gaze, eyes round with shock to Angie and then Helen.  “Oh, I think I’ve left my key in my apartment!”

She _had_ understood, Angie realized a Lorraine turned to Miss Fry and asked if it would be too much trouble to be let in.

And all the spare keys were down at Administration.

_Bless this woman!_

The moment Miss Fry was distracted with Lorraine, rattling off a speech about responsibility and sensibility, Angie herder Helen up the stairs.  Then she waited, and watched as Miss Fry lectured poor Lorraine—and gosh, was the woman ever long-winded!

_Finally!_ Angie crowed mentally when Miss Fry finally started down the stairs, Lorraine close behind.  The moment they rounded the corner, and their voices disappeared, Angie scurried up the stairs after Helen.

She found them still standing in the hall, the idiots, Howard very clearly giving Helen a play.  She all but ran towards them, and hissed, “Now is _not_ the time to flirt!”  A hand firmly on each of their shoulders, Angie dragged them to Helen’s door.  “Inside!” she ordered frantically.  “Before Fry comes!”

That seemed to kick Helen into gear, and she immediately started digging through her purse.  What was, in reality, only a few seconds felt like a painful eternity to Angie until, eventually, a small bundle of keys rested in Helen’s hand.  As she watched her neighbor locate the right one for the lock, Angie strained to hear any noise from the stairwell at the end of the hall.  She urged Helen to hurry, nearly squawking with relieved glee as she watched the door swing open.

She thrust Howard inside with the instructions, “Don’t come out until you’re called!”  Then she said urgently to Helen, “Keep him busy, and keep him out of trouble!”

“Busy, I can do,” Helen affirmed with a confidence that startled Angie.  “Out of trouble might be a little difficult.”

“Sassy brat,” Angie teased.  “I’ll take it!”  Another frenzied glance down the hall—she could hear Miss Fry coming—and she hastened Helen inside.  “I owe you!” she said as the door closed.

As soon as she heard the click of the latch, Angie hightailed it to her own door, shoving the key she had palmed earlier into the lock.  She waited a moment, and gathered herself together.  With a shaky breath, Angie straightened her back, turned the key, and twisted to knob to open her door—and all just as Miss Fry and Lorraine stepped into sight.  Angie slipped into her apartment, eyeing Lorraine when she turned back to close her door.

“Did Helen remember the shirt?” Lorraine asked.  She glanced towards Helen’s closed door while Miss Fry unlocked her apartment.

“Yeah, she did.”  Angie forced a chuckle.  “I can’t believe she forgot.”  Then, just for effect, she gestured to Lorraine’s door as Miss Fry nudged it open.  “And I can’t believe _you_ forgot your key!”

“And I expect you to act more responsibly in the future, Miss Hartley,” Miss Fry sniffed.  She eyed Angie suspiciously for a moment, almost as if she were some kind of mischief-scenting bloodhound.  Thankfully, whatever inklings she may have had were abandoned as she huffed a “Good day, Ladies,” to them both and once more made her way downstairs.

The women were left staring at one another, and Angie smiled when Lorraine allowed the key she’d been holding so tightly in the palm of her hand to dangle—by the ring—from her finger.

“Thank you,” Angie whispered across the hall, earning a saucy wink from Lorraine before they both stepped away and into their respective apartments.

When the door was securely closed behind her, Angie leaned back against it to give herself a moment to breathe.

_That man is a menace!_ she thought as she pushed away from the wall and crossed to her closet.  From the top shelf, she grabbed a bottle of schnapps—half empty—and popped the cork she’d trimmed to fit.  With a weary salute to the room, she said, “Three more days…” and took several gulps straight from the bottle.

“You’d better be worth it, Peggy Carter.”


	9. Chapter 9

V 1.01

 

 Angie was going through a script when she heard Peggy’s key in the lock.  Finally, she could stop policing Howard—though, luckily, she hadn’t had to concern herself for the last couple of hours.

“Howard, I have the…” she heard Peggy call.

Angie flipped a page in her script.

“Howard!” Peggy called.

She really should tell Peggy how thin the walls actually are, Angie considered, and how well she could hear her shouting.  _Good to know,_ she thought, as Peggy stormed into the hall.

“Where are you now?” she heard.

Of course, Angie knew where Howard was, and wasn’t at all surprised to hear his voice—more quiet and muffled than Peggy’s—from down the hall.  At least he had the decency to introduce Helen and Peggy.

As if they didn’t already know each other, Angie scoffed to herself as Peggy herded Howard back to her apartment.

“You are disgusting!” Peggy rebuked, and Angie had to smother her chuckles with her script.

After that, Peggy was considerably more quiet in discussing whatever business she had with Howard.  And thank goodness, because there was no way Angie could have covered for her if Fry came sniffing around through any of that.

_Oh…_ Angie realized.  Fry _would_ be coming around, and soon, to put out the call for dinner.  And, really, she could just _see_ Howard screwing that up.

_Absolutely not,_ Angie decided, and she threw her script aside.  Then she slipped into her shoes, resolve unwavering, and left her apartment to dart downstairs before Miss Fry could head up and potentially discover Howard.

She would gather the others for dinner herself, and keep Miss Fry as far away from Peggy’s apartment as she could!

 

* * *

 

 

When she finally found herself in front of Peggy’s apartment door, Angie took a moment to gather her wits about her.  She reminded herself that she wasn’t supposed to know about Howard, and that, as such, she should make an effort to act just as she normally would.

“Normal…” she whispered to herself, and then knocked on the door.

When there was no answer, Angie had a brief moment of panic that maybe Peggy really _was_ sleeping with Howard.  _Oh, like hell_ , she told herself.  Peggy had way more respect for herself than that.

“Peggy!” she half shouted, and still there was no answer from within Peggy’s apartment.  She knocked again, refusing to be ignored.  “Peggy!  Are you in there?”

There was a long pause before Peggy’s voice carried to her, far more muted than usual, “Uh, actually, Angie, I’m feeling a little under the weather.”  She must have been holed up in the bathroom, and Angie wondered just what in the world they were _doing_ if they weren’t sleeping together?

“Jesus you suck at lying,” Angie muttered, shaking her head.  But she wasn’t about to let Peggy off that easily.  If she didn’t at least put in an appearance at supper, it might raise Fry’s suspicions.  “Peg, are you sure?” she called through, feigning concern for Peggy’s feigned illness.  And then, very deliberately keeping her voice light, “You need Pepto?”

Really, Peggy should know better than to play these games with her.  Angie could just imagine the aggravated and embarrassed look on Peggy’s face when she heard the half-sighed, half-shouted, “Coming.”  Really, it was all she could do to keep a straight face when Peggy opened the door a few moments later.

She looked harried, Angie noted.  And immediately, her mood fell and she disliked Howard even more.  As if the jerks at the _phone company_ —whatever it actually was—weren’t causing Peggy enough trouble…

And she almost commented on it all—had her mouth open and everything—but managed to shut herself up just in the nick of time.  She wasn’t supposed to know, she reminded herself.

It wasn’t until Peggy asked her, “What’s wrong?” after closing her apartment door that Angie even realized she was looking pretty frustrated with it all.

She wasn’t supposed to know about Howard, Angie reminded herself again.

And she reminded herself again.

And again.

Then, Peggy touched her arm, “Angie?”

“I just…” God she hated to do this.  “If I didn’t know any better,” she said with a smile, “I’d think you were avoiding me.”  She didn’t mean it.  She knew what was going on.  Sort of.

But the guilty look that twisted Peggy’s face.

Jesus, that hurt…

“Angie…”

Angie forced a laugh.  “Sorry,” she chuckled through a smile that felt wrong on her face.  “I’ve just had all day to make myself nervous.”

Damn that Howard.

“I know you probably had a rough day with the boys at the phone company.”

_Damn_ that Howard!

“I’ll keep until you’re feeling up to talking.”  She nodded Peggy towards the stairs.  “Now go eat, soldier, before you starve to death.”

As she’d hoped, the bit of humor concerning Peggy’s eating habits earned her a quirk of those beautiful, shapely lips, just before Peggy headed for the stairwell.

Crisis averted.  Once Peggy was out of sight, Angie heaved a sigh and allowed herself to physically.  Then she cast a dark look to Peggy’s apartment door.

“God damn you to _Hell_ , Howard Stark,” she cursed under her breath.

 

* * *

 

When Angie finally made her way downstairs, the sight of Peggy awkwardly, and _obviously_ , stealing food did more to lift her spirits than she every would have thought.  Come to think of it, Angie had never seen Peggy steal _anything_ from the table, and she briefly wondered how she made it through the day or night without something small to at least _nibble_ on.  But there she was, stealing food—probably for Howard, Angie realized sulkily—and it looked like the poor thing needed a bit of guidance.

And so, Angie smoothly inserted herself in line behind Peggy, saying, “These rolls keep for three days,” as she reached past her friend to collect said rolls and shove them in her handbag.  She didn’t bat an eye at the way Peggy jumped.  Better not to draw any attention to her.  “Four if it’s cold and you put them out on the windowsill.”

“Oh, uh, glad to hear it,” Peggy managed, and Angie marveled at how uncomfortable this was making her.  “Um, I don’t often steal food,” she finished haltingly.

“Are you kidding?” Angie deadpanned, gesturing beyond Peggy to Carol.  “Carol once fit a whole chicken down her sweater.”

And Carol was all too happy to add, “My mom knit a special chicken pocket!” her curls bouncing around her smile.

And just as Peggy was beginning to look more amazed than terrified, Vera chimed in with “Gloria’s got a compartment in her pocketbook that can fit a cup of gravy.”

From the table, Gloria nodded vigorously, cheeks stuffed to the point of puffing, as Dottie opened up her pocketbook to have a peek.

“Well, would you look at that!” she breathed in wonder, Gloria hardly paying her any mind and she continued on with her meal.

If all that didn’t make Peggy feel better, nothing would, Angie decided.  Though, when Peggy turned to face her, clearly still jittery, Angie knew they’d only helped a little bit.

The smile was forced, Angie knew, and Peggy’s eyes darted all about, as if looking for threats to her escape.  “Uh, I’m going to eat in my room.  I have the last five pages of the new Agatha Christie.”  Angie had to shove a roll in her mouth to keep from telling Peggy to calm down.  “Good night!”

Angie didn’t watch her go.  Instead, she determinedly stared at the serving table and chewed through the massive bite of the roll she’d taken, listening to Dottie ask Gloria if she could make her a pocketbook to hold pickles.

It was only a short while later that, still sitting and eating her supper, Angie watched Peggy stride out the front doors.

 

* * *

 

Angie knew Peggy well enough by now to recognize when she was upset.  And when Peggy showed up a little over an hour later, looking more serious than she had when she’d left and snipping hellos back to the girls who greeted her, she knew something was wrong.

Peggy was halfway up the stairs before Angie was able to pull herself away from a conversation with Alice and follow her trail.

What on Earth had happened?

Three quarters of the way to their floor, and Angie heard Peggy’s apartment door shut.

And when she finally made it within earshot…

“You know how, uh, dangerous that could be?” she heard Howard ask.  He sounded nervous.

“What’s in the vial, Howard?”

Angie’s blood ran cold.  She didn’t think she’d ever heard that tone of voice from Peggy before.  She heard some muttering, and Peggy asked Howard what was in the vial again in that clipped, no nonsense tone.

Not five seconds later, she heard the sound of meat hitting meat, and Howard grunted.

Angie could only stare at the door in shock.  Had Howard _hit_ Peggy?

“You used me.  You lied to me.”  It was a higher end to Peggy’s emotions that Angie had never heard.

“You hit me!” Howard argued.

Ah.

“You don’t get to use my reaction to your lies as a _reason_ for your lies!”

“Yeah, I do!  I knew how much Steve meant to you, because I know how much he means to me!  I was protecting you!”

“Oh, don’t pretend this is about me and my emotions!  You were out to protect you!”

 “Yeah, I didn’t want to see this turmoil that you’re in.  Look at you!”

“I trusted you, Howard!” Peggy roared at him.

Angie looked around nervously, hoping if anybody _had_ to be up here that it was only Helen and Lorraine.

“Yeah, I know!  And I was wrong.  But you have to understand, a kid like me doesn’t get to where I’m at by doing—“

“What?  Wanted for treason?”

The venom in Peggy’s voice told Angie that this was going to get worse before it got better.

She’d better run interference again, she decided.  Just in case.

“Oh, please let everybody be downstairs,” she prayed as she headed that way herself.

 

* * *

 

It was the slowest three minutes of her life until Peggy came stomping down the stairwell, eyes glassy and expression stormy.

“Peg?” she called, from where she stood at the bottom of the stairwell like a guard.  “You okay?”

The way Peggy’s lips pursed, the little shake of her head skyward, and the vein jumping in her neck all told Angie that she was _not_ okay.  She looked completely wrung out.

She wished Peggy had hit Howard harder.

“I’m, uh,” Peggy sniffed, swallowing against the emotions Angie could so plainly see.  “I’m going to step out for some air,” she said, careful to enunciate each and every word to avoid sounding as watery as she looked.

Angie immediately stood to attention, falling in by Peggy side as she made for the door.  “I’ll come with you,” she told Peggy.  “You look like you could use some good company.”

For a moment, Peggy looked like she was going to say no, but then she offered a sad sort of smile and walked outside with Angie close beside her.

 

* * *

 

Angie lamented her lack of a coat almost immediately after they left.  The days were warm enough, sure, but the nights were still chilly and damp, and Angie could feel the chill down to her bones.  Even worse, Peggy hadn’t even _worn_ a coat for Angie to charm her out of!

At least the fresh air seemed to do Peggy some good, though it had taken a good five blocks for her to calm down enough that she wasn’t stomping her heels through the sidewalk.  And thank goodness; Angie had worried the entire time that she would break a heel if she kept It up.

Not a single word between them almost four blocks later, and the worry Angie had been letting go of crept back into her mind.  She knew she couldn’t ask what was wrong, because it was a can of worms that Peggy couldn’t talk about and it would only frustrate her more.  And so, Angie did the only thing she could think of.

Wordlessly, she slipped her hand into Peggy’s as they walked, and gave a light squeeze.

Peggy actually seemed startled, almost as if she’d forgotten Angie was with her, and looked to their joined hands.  A moment later, she squeezed back, throwing a grateful smile Angie’s way.

Angie felt that it was possibly the best thing she’d done for Peggy all day.

 

* * *

 

They returned to the Griffith a good forty-five minutes later, still hand-in-hand.  They hadn’t spoken at all, but the ease of Peggy’s smiles for the girls who offered a tentative “Hello” warmed Angie’s heart—though the closer they got to their floor, the more Angie’s stomach tied itself into knots.  She ignored it as best she could, tenaciously swallowing her nerves down as they came closer and closer to the third floor landing.

Then, before Angie knew it, their apartment doors were in sight and she had to relinquish her hold on Peggy’s hand to dig her keys from her pocket.  She fished around, fingertips tingling where they missed the warmth of Peggy’s grasp, and she had to mentally remind herself to close her fingers over the small set of keys she kept passing over.

Even focused on selecting the proper key so she wouldn’t look like a _complete_ fool, Angie couldn’t help but notice the way Peggy eyed the hall instead of heading back to her own apartment—almost as if she expected someone to suddenly materialize in the corridor.

Angie stepped close to her door.  _Probably the spooks after Howard_ , she considered, aiming her key for the lock.

_Or just Howard…_ she realized, the mere thought of that mustachioed jerk making her miss.

Angie glared at the keyhole as her key skidded across the metal, hands shaking with fury as she tried to slide the it in again and again.  Just the thought of that pig and the trouble he’d dragged Peggy into made her blood boil. 

She’d never _been_ so angry before!

Angie forced a slow breath out through her nose, teeth clenched against the urge to march over to Peggy’s apartment and break that bastard’s nose.

Then Peggy’s hand landed on hers, firm and steady, and helped her to guide the key into the lock.

Angie silently marveled at how quickly the burning heat of rage could turn into a burning _need_ for Peggy, as she stood motionless with Peggy pressed against her back.

“I’m sorry,” Peggy whispered, her breath warming Angie’s chilled skin.  “I know it’s agitating waiting on me.”

Angie leaned back against Peggy, bringing both her hand and Peggy’s away from the key—still in the lock—and to the opposite side of her face.  She rubbed her cheek over the back of Peggy’s hand and then pressed a kiss, soft and purposeful, to the side of her wrist.  “Don’t apologize,” she whispered back, nuzzling where she’d just kissed.  “I told you I’d keep.”

Peggy cupped her hand to Angie’s cheek, and Angie landed one…two…three kisses before her head was turned to face Peggy.

“I still want to talk,” Peggy told her vehemently, thumbing the thin scab on Angie’s lip.  “But I want to be able to tell you _everything_ , and there’s something I need to finish working through first.  Will you wait for me?”

Angie kissed the thumb running along her lip, eyes bright as she stared into Peggy’s.  “Take all the time you need, English,” she said.  “I’ll wait.”

Then Peggy smiled—the first _real_ smile Angie had seen on her all day—right before her lips descended upon Angie’s.

This kiss was different from the one they shared the morning before, all soft and gentle and full of promise.  Then it was over, and Peggy smiled so beautifully at Angie, she thought her heart might just burst from the sheer joy of it, even as Peggy pulled herself away to head for her apartment.

“Thank you,” Peggy called quietly, flashing one last smile at Angie before she unlocked her door and slipped inside.

 


End file.
